Page 56 of Hex and the City
I gaped at him, my words gone missing, just like my brain. I’d said “No” already, only needed to repeat it, except that it wasn’t what I really wanted.
Max’s lips drew back in arrogant triumph, halfway between a smile and a malicious leer. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
Powerful hands and powerful arms herded me toward the bed, like I was just some cattle, just a piece of meat. And it was true, entirely. I was just something for Max to enjoy, to consume, to devour whole. I shuddered as he kissed me again by the edge of his bed, somehow feeling so fragile and yet so safe at the same time.
The joke was on me. I folded like a card table under his hands, shoved easily onto the bed. I grunted as I struck the mattress, heart pounding like war drums even as I sank into the warmth and softness.
Max clambered on top of me, thighs to either side of my body, fencing me in. His fingers closed around my wrists, pressed down into the sheets. He licked his lips. “No” was the last thing on my mind. The inside of my skull played an endless, voracious “Yes” on a loop. Yes, and now, and again, and again.
“Last chance to back out,” he growled.
“Do your worst,” I said, staring him in the eye, my glare unfaltering, even when my voice wavered.
He chuckled, grinding against me so hard that I threw my head back and moaned. Fuck, that thing in his pants, his bulge grazing mine — how was I supposed to resist?
“You need to know that I’m very good at what I do,” Max said. “I’m telling you right now that I have a lot of pent-up aggression to work out. Like, a lot.”
“Did I stutter?” I raised my head, the muscles in my neck straining. “Do. Your. Worst.”
Something in Max’s face changed, a twitch in the corner of his eye, a devilish curve in his mouth. There was nothing this cocky bastard loved more than a challenge — except maybe teasing and taunting me, driving that rock-hard thing in his jeans against my erection.
He lowered his head, nipped at my ear so softly that I shivered. Maximilian Drake whispered.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard it’ll make your head spin.”
God, but my head alreadywasspinning. I licked my lips, the inside of my mouth watering. Nothing had even happened yet, but I was already starving for something I hadn’t tasted yet.
My hands shook as I grabbed at his clothes, grabbed at mine, tearing and tugging where I could, revealing more of him, more of us. He hissed when my nails raked at bare skin, when I leaned up to leave the marks of my teeth against his cheek, on his neck, nipped at one of his nipples.
Growling, he stretched like a wildcat across the bed, one large hand fumbling with his side-table drawer. He fished out a plastic bottle of something clear and wet, something that went slick on his hand, dripping like threads of syrup when he parted his fingers to lube up his cock, to smear at my hole.
I quivered at his touch, the glorious slickness that only just smoothened the roughness of his hand. God, how long had it been since I’d been fucked, since anyone had even touched me there? One finger, then two, then my hand darted for his wrist, locking it there with frightened fingers.
Max laughed, brash and beautiful and breathless. “It’s only a few fingers, Leon. Don’t tell me you’re giving up already. It’s about to get a lot rougher from here.”
“I’m not scared,” I blurted out, my face burning and hot.
Something evil glinted in Max’s eye. “I never said you were. But thanks for the confession. I’ll keep it in mind for when I’m fucking you half to death.”
“All talk and no action,” I said, miraculously hiding my stammer, putting on a brave face. “Shut up and do something already.”
I gasped when the head of his cock probed at my hole, cried out when he shoved himself inside me. I threw my hand over my mouth, stifling a scream, tears welling in the back of my throat from the gorgeous excruciation of his cock, of him, of this blazing thing burrowing deep inside me.
“Fuck.” The word slipped from my grasp. “Oh, fuck. You’re huge. You’re killing me.”
“Don’t go dying on me just yet.” Max bent down to kiss the corner of my neck, the pattern of his face and his body blazoned so brightly in my head that I could see him grinning against my skin even with my eyes closed.
Every shock and slam of his hips wrung another little scream from the most feral, most desperate depths of my soul. Max’s bed was far sturdier, far more luxurious than the cheap ones at the motel, but now it was creaking with every one of his powerful thrusts.
“Take it. Fucking take it.”
I took it. I accepted my fate, his cock, everything. I opened wet eyes to the ceiling, saw nothing but distant stars. The pad of one rough thumb ran over my nipple, tracing, encircling. His other hand pressed down on my chest, pinning me to the bed. I reached for the wrist of that hand, pulling, sliding it up past my collarbone. Max was a smart man. He understood, thumb and fingers grasping the base of my throat.
“As hard as you can,” I groaned. “I need this. Ruin me.”
He never said a word, only obliged in grunting, sweating, wordless silence. He ground against me, into me, dick down to the root, every last inch feeding me until I was full, until my insides were screaming for release. Harder and harder he pounded, and harder and harder the bed clattered against the wall. I could feel his breath hot on my cheek, smell the mingling of his sweat and his soap.
And I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. I threw my head back, clawing at the sheets above me, one hand against his stomach to absorb the force and rhythm of his furious thrusting, this man who had nothing and yet everything to prove.
